It fell on the lid, And soon was hid, For clos'd was the Mariner's grave. Now o'er his lone bed the briar creeps, And the moon-beam sleeps, On the Mariner's silent grave. A JOLLY comrade in the port, a fearless mate at sea; When I forget thee, to my hand false may the cutlass be! And may my gallant battle-flag be stricken down in shame, If, when the social can goes round, I fail to pledge thy name! Up, up, my lads! his memory? we'll give it with a cheer Ned Bolton, the commander of the Black Snake pri vateer! Poor Ned! he had a heart of steel, with neither flaw nor speck: Firm as a rock, in strife or storm, he stood the quarterdeck; He was, I trow, a welcome man to many an Indian damé, 1 And Spanish planters crossed themselves at whisper of his name; But now, Jamaica girls may weep-rich Dons securely smile His bark will take no prize again, nor e'er touch Indian 1 'S blood! 'twas a sorry fate he met on his own mother wave The foe far off, the storm asleep, and yet to find a grave! With store of the Peruvian gold, and spirit of the cane, No need would he have had to cruise in tropic climes again; But some are born to sink at sea, and some to hang on shore, And Fortune cried, God speed! at last, and welcomed Ned no more. "Twas off the coast of Mexico-the tale is bitter brief, The Black Snake, under press of sail, stuck fast upon á reef Upon a cutting coral-reef, scarce a good league from land, But hundreds, both of horse and foot, were ranged upon the strand; His boats were lost before Cape Horn, and, with an old canoe, Even had he numbered ten for one, what could Ned Bolton do? Six days and nights the vessel lay upon the coral-reef, Nor favoring gale, nor friendly flag brought prospect of relief; For a land breeze, the wild one prayed, who never prayed before, And when it came not at his call, he bit his lip and swore, The Spaniards shouted from the beach, but did not venture near, Too well they knew the mettle of the daring privateer! A calm! a calm! a hopeless calm! the red sun burning high, Glared blisteringly and wearily in a transparent sky; The grog went round the gasping crew: and loudly rose the song, The only pastime at an hour when rest seemed far too long, So boisterously they took their rouse upon the crowded deck They looked like men who had escaped, not feared, a sudden wreck, Up sprung the breeze the seventh day-away! away! to sea Drifted the bark, with riven planks, over the waters free; Their battle-flag these rovers bold then hoisted topmast high, And to the swarthy foe sent back a fierce defying cry. "One last broadside!" Ned Bolton cried-deep boomed the cannon's roar, And echo's hollow growl returned an answer from the shore. The thundering gun, the broken song, the mad tumultuous cheer, Ceased not, so long as ocean spared the shattered privateer, I saw her-I-she shot by me like lightning, in the gale, We strove to save, we tacked, and fast we slackened all our sail I knew the wave of Ned's right hand-farewell! you strive in vain! And he, nor one of his ship's crew, e'er entered port again. LAMENT FOR LONG TOM.-BY BRAINARD. THY cruise is over now Thou art anchored by the shore, Hear the storm around the roar; Death has shaken out the sands of thy glass. And the night winds make their wail, As they pass. The sea-grass round thy bier Nor tell the breakers near, Where thy manly limbs abide; At the calling of all hands, Over thee. When the judgment signals spread— And the seas give up their dead, And the just man is afraid, Then may Heaven be thy aid, Poor Tom. 9941.. MILITARY SONGS. SEE THEM ON THEIR WINDING WAY. I see them, &c. Again, again, the pealing drum, The clashing horn-they come, they come, HOW STANDS THE GLASS. How stands the glass around? Let mirth and wine abound. |